


Routine Inspection

by RoyHankins



Category: Red vs. Blue, Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Blues are Science, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family, Gen, Reds are Command, Section 13 Washington, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyHankins/pseuds/RoyHankins
Summary: Someone has come to a Federation base in the middle of nowhere to investigate strange claims about the personnel stationed there. He had no idea what he was walking into.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Routine Inspection

“Special Operative Washington’s log, stardate 58040.1. After weeks of travel, the courier vessel assigned to assist in this operation is beginning to near the Federation base in question. I am still unsure why the Section’s director is sending me here. Aside from the cover story I was given, I was only told to keep my eyes and ears open for anything strange. After looking at some of the reports of what travelers have seen at the station, I feel like I’m looking for a needle in a haystack. Half of what I’ve read must be exaggerations, if not outright lies. I’ve still yet to learn how Federation Base 03150311-02092005 earned the nickname Bloo-” In the middle of dictating his log, a barely audible sound alert made clear someone was requesting access to his private quarters. Annoyed, Washington paused, whispered, “End log,” then said louder, “Computer, please open the door.”

With a whooshing sound, the door smoothly slid open, revealing the pilot who’d been running this ship when Section 13 had commandeered it. Washington generally tried to project an air of brusque aloofness when not around members of his own squad, hoping to make the other person think of him as a serious Starfleet man with too much to do and not enough time for them. This woman had not been put off by it. With the fearless casualness he commonly saw in ship helmsmen, she hooked a finger back where she’d just come from and told him, “We’re getting hailed, thought you’d want to do the talking.” Washington gave her a crisp nod, then walked ahead of her out of his room.

This was a small ship by any standard, but it was nimble and good at getting where it needed to without drawing any undue attention, which was exactly what this kind of mission called for. The quarters for the ship were only three or four rooms, and it took eight steps to go from Washington’s quarters onto the bridge, which only had posts for three people. Washington had tried not to learn any of their names, but weeks on the same ship had forced him to know Jones (which for some ungodly reason was pronounced ‘Joe-En-Es’) and Andersmith by sight. The pilot never gave Washington her name, everyone just called her by the numbers on her jacket: 479er. She took her seat and told Andersmith, “Return the hail, set up a com-link.”

After just a few seconds, the viewscreen was taken up by a man in a Starfleet uniform. It looked fairly standard for most outposts and bases, with the sharply colored top area contrasting with the black of the rest of the design. The thing was, Washington had never seen one in pink before. “Oh, good! I’m really glad you answered the hail when you did, I was just about to shoot my load at you!” The officer’s voice was bubbly and sweet, which combined with his uniform color made Washington think of bubblegum.

The officer’s enthusiasm and cheer were almost enough to make Washington miss what he’d just said. Once he moved past that, he considered whether to focus on the content of his words, or the way he’d said it. After all, no Starfleet officer should ever refer to using their weapon as ‘shooting a load’. The sexual connotation was not workplace appropriate. Instead, Washington concentrated on what was admittedly more important. “This is Lieutenant Commander Washington, do not fire on this ship! I want your name and rank, and for you tell me what the hell you were thinking of doing!” Out of the corner of his eyes, Washington could see the other guys on the bridge flinch at his tone, even though it wasn’t directed at them. Washington was glad that his job imitating the director’s scolding voice was working.

However, it didn’t seem to affect the officer on the viewscreen at all. “I’m Ensign Franklin Delano Donut, sir, in charge of security here at Blood Gulch!” Donut said with an easy smile. With a dramatic flair, he flipped his long blond bangs as he said his name, like the contestant on an archaic competition program trying to gain the audience’s favor. “I thought it’d be pretty rude to fire at you too, sir, but I triple checked with Sarge, and he said if I didn’t do it, he’d fire the photon torpedoes at you himself, and I do love pressing the right buttons.”

If Washington was confused before, he was absolutely befuddled now. “B-but your base shouldn’t have any photon torpedoes! The files clearly show that you don’t even have the ability to fire any, even if you did get ahold of them!” By this point, Washington didn’t even sound angry anymore, he just sounded like he was yelling out of a desperate need to understand what the hell was going on with these people.

“Tee hee!” Donut laughed, actually enunciating the onomatopoeia instead of making the sound they represent. “Yeah, but Sarge had the Blues whip up something similar just in case. I think they ended up using Neutrons or Positrons or something, I can’t really remember.” Washington no longer had the energy to explain to Donut that what he was saying made no sense. “Anyway, you’re clear to board, just line your ship on up and I’ll thrust the connection in your behind!” Then the connection terminated, leaving Washington to stare blankly at the space station, wondering where his life had gone wrong.

Federation Base 03150311-02092005, known by most people as ‘Blood Gulch’, was in the middle of nowhere. It was well within Federation space, but so far from any occupied systems that the actual purpose of the base, if it had ever really had one, was long forgotten. It orbited a bright red gas giant, which itself orbited quite closely to a brilliant blue star. A failed binary star system. As Washington prepared to board the base, he took another look out the ship’s window near the airlock. Apparently, the base was too close to its planet’s powerful ion field, making transporting in or out of it dangerous.

In addition to its numerous other oddities, Blood Gulch’s design was like nothing Washington had ever seen before. The only way he could think of describing it was as two squat cylinders, each with about the same diameter as the length of a Klingon Bird of Prey, connected by two tube corridors, one on top and one on bottom. It was unsightly, unorthodox, and clearly a drain of the Federation’s resources. He wondered for a moment if that was really why he was here, to see if they could just mothball the base, but then shook his head. That wasn’t the kind of thing his organization did with their time.

Once the ship had docked with the base, and Washington had shared a few short goodbyes with the crew, he entered the airlock and tried to prepare himself for what came next. To his dismay, it was Ensign Donut waiting for him. “Helloooooooo Commander Washington, and welcome to Blood Gulch! As the only security officer on the base, it is my pleasure to escort you wherever you need to go!” Then, with a twirl, Donut turned around and started down the hall, clearly expecting Washington to follow him.

With seemingly no other choices available, Washington fell into step a few paces behind Donut, skeptically eyeing the state of the base as they walked. This place appeared to at least be well-maintained, if a bit dirty. “I’d like to speak to your commanding officer, Ensign.” Washington didn’t even try to hide the anger in his voice. The idea that this officer apparently enforced the attack of incoming ships on a seeming whim was a diplomatic nightmare in the waiting, exactly the kind of thing Washington and his cohorts would be forced to clean up if it got out of hand.

Rather than try to defend or attack his superior office, Donut switched topics entirely. “I really like your uniform, Wash. I’ve never seen one like it, must be easier for getting stains out. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished our uniforms were something lighter than black, getting the white out is a nightmare.”

Washington tried to just ignore the comment and focus on what he wanted to say to whoever was in charge of this place, but he couldn’t. Oddly enough, he found it hard to stay angry around Donut. The man just radiated positivity like a lightbulb. “It’s understandable you haven’t seen a uniform like mine before. My division has early access to them, but it’s possible they’ll be the standard in a year or two.” Said uniform was made of a thicker material than the one most Starfleet officers wore, with a grey area from the shoulders up, and the only color being a shirt worn underneath it. In Washington’s case, it was yellow.

Before they could talk more about fashion, they reached their destination. The door opened for Donut, and inside was what Washington could only guess was their meeting room. The table was large enough to seat at least a dozen officers, but there were only two there at the time, sitting a few seats away from each other.

One of them had a datapad out, and was scrolling on the device furiously, clearly searching desperately for something. His uniform was closer to the standard than Donut’s, but the red was a little too dark, and almost purple, like a maroon shade. His hair was shortly cut, a mess of brown curls, his skin the pasty white of someone who avoided any planet’s sun like the plague. One of his eyes was also clearly cybernetic in nature, and Washington could see more evidence of heavy surgical repair on his hand and neck.

The other man was surrounded by several open bags of snack foods from various different cultures and species throughout the galaxy. His hefty body also showed signs of surgery, though no mechanical augmentations, but rather several portions of flesh that were too pale compared to his own dark skin tone. His hair was longer and more untamed than Washington thought was appropriate for a Starfleet officer, and the same could be said for the mess of stubble and half-grown facial hair surrounding his mouth. His uniform was another that was clearly non-standard, namely orange.

Both of them stopped what they were doing, looking for information and scarfing down unhealthy food, when Washington entered with Donut. It felt like everyone was waiting for someone else to be the first to speak, so Washington took charge. “My name is Lieutenant Commander Washington, and I’m here investigating some unusual reports. Before I start working on that, I’d like to speak to your commanding officer.” It had taken a few years, but Washington had learned how to speak to the average Starfleet officer with the kind of authority that grabbed their attention.

Though judging by how quickly the maroon one jumped to speak, Washington had to wonder if that had been overkill in this case. “Yes sir! Sarge just left, but I’m sure if you wait here with us, he’ll be back soon.” This officer’s voice had a slightly nasal quality to it, and he reminded Washington of a dozen other kissass rank-climbing opportunists he’d met before. “I’m Ensign Richard Simmons, the XO for this outpost. You’ve already met Donut, and this is Ensign Dexter Grif, our Operations Officer.” Then, faking a hushed tone that was still very much audible to everyone in the room, he added, “The laziest officer in all of Starfleet.”

When he first heard it, Washington felt the claim was clear hyperbole. Spending more time around Grif made him doubt that initial hypothesis. With a sharp voice that cut through the air, Grif yelled, “Hey Sheila, tell Sarge to get back here!” That work seemingly done, Grif reclined in his seat and told Washington, “He’s busy trying to make a robot or some shit.” It had been quite a while since Washington had heard a Starfleet Officer swear around another, but that taboo would quickly seem irrelevant the longer he was at Blood Gulch.

“Message relayed.” The matter-of-fact voice was clearly that of the base’s computer, but it didn’t quite sound right to Washington. How much of their equipment had these officers been personalizing?

Before Washington could ask them to explain anything, there was a loud thumping sound from one of the nearby doors. In a rough Southern accent, someone on the other side started grumbling, “Goddamn these new-fangled Federation doors! In my day, being able to break down a door with your foot was considered a necessary qualification in the military!” Then, after a brief pause, the door opened, and an irritable looking officer entered the room. He looked old, but how old was a mystery. Depending on how rough his life had been to him so far, the man could have been in his forties or his hundred-and-tens. He still had all his hair, which was shorn into an outdated military buzzcut, something Washington only recognized from history classes. His uniform was the only one he’d seen so far with a standard color, the generic red of Command officers. Without looking the least bit inviting, the man took a seat at the head of the table and asked Washington, “What the hell are you doing on my base?!”

For just a second, the sheer authority and conviction in the man’s voice almost made Washington submit to his question. Almost. The anger came back regarding the near death experience at this man’s orders, and Washington asked him, his voice deadly calm. “I take it you’re who these men refer to as ‘Sarge’?” It was times like this that Washington wished he’d been supplied with personnel files for any of the officers at this base. When he’d asked the director why they were not available, he was not given an answer.

Puffing up his chest, Sarge nodded his head, looking like a preening peacock. “You are correct! I am the Sergeant in charge of this base.”

Feeling his blood pressure really starting to rise, Washington pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and started to say, “Sergeant is not a recognized rank within Starfle-” before cutting himself off and jumping to the more important matter at hand. “Sergeant, I am Lieutenant Commander Washington, from Starfleet Command. I was asked to come and inspect this base as well as its personnel. Can you _please_ explain to me why you attempted to fire on my transport ship?” Washington was fairly clear in his tone that the wrong answer held serious consequences.

The second he had told Sarge that he was from Starfleet Command, the man looked mollified somewhat, as if only then he saw Washington with any respect at all. “Well, sir, you weren’t answering our hails! We had no idea who you were! Your ship could have been full of some of those Borg fella’s, with their egg whisks and their strange monocles, here to fill us with kitchen appliances!” Washington found this defense ridiculous, and was ready to interrupt, when Sarge just kept talking. “Maybe your crew was all some o’ them shapeshifters, ready to kill and replace us for nefarious purposes! Maybe you were traveling with a cloaked ship, one of them Klingoid thingamajigs, ready to blast us when we let down our guard!”

The more this man raved, the less angry Washington found himself feeling. Clearly, this man was paranoid beyond all belief. Instead of giving him the full dressing down that he’d been preparing, Washington just told him, “Unless an incoming ship is confirmed as hostile or makes aggressive actions, do not attempt to destroy them.” Sarge grumbled at that, but seemed to take the suggestion as a command to be followed. Then, Washington explained, “As I said before, I’m supposed to do a thorough inspection of your base and officers. Is this everyone?” They all seemed to be put on their guard by that question, but Washington didn’t understand why.

“Everyone that matters,” Sarge cursed under his breath.

Seemingly happy to take over the talking point, Simmons cut in. “Not exactly, sir. Each half of the base is staffed by four officers. The four of us represent the command structure of the facility, while the other four live in the other half of the base. They’re all science officers.” That last comment sounded like it was supposed to explain everything, delivered with clear derision.

Not happy with everyone talking around the problem, Washington asked directly, “Then why is it you’ve separated from the rest of the crew? Why are you acting so hostile?”

Simmons didn’t seem to understand the question. “Um, because we’re Red? And they’re Blue?”

Both Sarge and Donut seemed equally confused regarding Washington’s lack of understanding, but Grif waded back into the conversation to try and make it make sense. “Listen dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are kinda different around here. We and the Blues don’t get along.” Then, the officer wiped the snack dust off his hands and looked like he was about to stand up, when he instead looked at Donut and told him, “Hey, Donut, show him where the Blues are. I’m going to head back to the holodeck.”

Without delay, Donut happily began escorting Washington through the base once more, this time to one of the corridors that connected the two halves of the station. Washington’s ever growing confusion was only made worse when he realized there were makeshift barricades made all over the hallways, and clear evidence of phaser fire on them. When they were halfway across the room, there was a phaser blast that missed both Washington and Donut by a few meters, lightly searing what looked like a wooden desk turned onto one side. Immediately, Washington’s training took over, and he grabbed Donut tightly and pulled him behind a barricade. From the direction the phaser blast had come from, someone called out, “Alright, fuckfaces, don’t move! That one was set to stun, but I can’t guarantee the next one will be too!” This voice sounded oddly familiar to Washington, but he couldn’t put a finger on exactly how.

Like so many things, Donut didn’t seem to mind being almost stunned with a phaser. At best, he was mildly annoyed. “Church, that was very rude of you. I was _trying_ to bring you a guest.” Still the condemnation was clearly something the other man hadn’t been expecting.

“Shit, Donut? Okay, get out here, I promise I won’t fire again.” Immediately Donut was standing again and walking over towards their attacker, Washington only following behind him after making sure his own hidden phaser was within reach. The man holding the phaser, Church apparently, looked as weirdly familiar as he sounded, but once again Washington had a hard time placing exactly how. His sallow skin, sunken green eyes, and rough black hair rung a faint bell. He was another officer with a non-standard uniform, in his case the blue was a few shades lighter than was normal. He was looking Washington up and down, as if appraising him at a store. “Alright, who the fuck is this guy?”

Deciding he’d rather not have Donut introduce him, out of fear that more than one innocent innuendo would be hidden inside, Washington met Church’s gaze and explained, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Washington, and I’ve been assigned to investigate this base and everyone on it. There have been a number of odd reports from travelers who’ve stopped by your base in the past.”

Where Sarge has bowed to Washington’s seeming authority immediately, Church only looked more aggravated when he heard the man’s title. “Great, another two-star jackass. Next time you see Sarge, thank him for the visit, okay? It’s him and his Reds that keep giving Blood Gulch a bad name.” From what he’d seen of them, Washington didn’t doubt that was likely the case.

“Um, but aren’t you Blues the one who almost killed Admiral Wyoming when he was here last month?” Donut said, sounding almost like speaking up about this was something he didn’t want to do, like he was scared of being rude.

Church waved the comment away. “Fucker wouldn’t stop butting into our labs, it’s not our fault he had no sense of privacy.” Then, he quietly added, “Stupid fucking knock knock jokes...” He waved back in the direction he’d come from while looking at Washington. “Anyway, you want to see our side too, right? Then get a move on, I’ve got better shit to do then stand here flapping my gums with you and Pepto-Bitchmol over here.” With that, Church stalked off and started heading towards his side of the station. Donut waved goodbye as Washington followed him, steeling himself for whatever was going to come next.

Deciding he might as well start interviewing the man as they walked together, Washington asked, “So, what is your exact position on this base?”

Church let out an annoyed grunt. “Geez, Sarge didn’t even tell you that much? Just my fucking luck...I’m Doctor Leonard Church, and I’m an Ensign like most of the people here. Regardless, I’m the Chief Science Officer, and the leader of the Blues.” He talked about that last one as if it was a real position. “I don’t know what Sarge told you about Blood Gulch, but this place wasn’t built for a strategic advantage or anything like that. This is a research base, even if those Red fuckers want to pretend they’re in charge.” Washington decided not to tell him that Sarge hadn’t said anything like that, or remind Church that, technically speaking, the Reds really were in charge of the base.

There was someone waiting by the door that led into the other half of the base. This man’s uniform was teal or aquamarine, the bright color contrasting his dark skin tone, and he was resting against a wall with a laxness that put Washington off. When he caught sight of who was coming up to him, he looked disappointed. “ _This_ is who was on that ship that docked?”

“Sorry, Tucker,” Church said, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “It’s not another chick you can throw shitty pick-up lines at.” This devolved into an argument that Washington didn’t even bother paying attention to, something about the quality of Tucker’s skill at attracting women.

Since the two were just standing there and talking, Washington cut into the talk to add in, “There was actually a woman on my transport, but she didn’t come aboard.” That just seemed to make Tucker even more morose. Pointedly looking at the door, Washington asked, “Now, are you going to show me your base, or are we going to stand here all day?”

That actually got a hollow laugh from Church as he opened the door and they went into their side of the base. “You say that, but there have literally been days where we just fuck around. Turns out, there’s not actually that much to do out here.” Something about that offended Washington, but he also couldn’t claim the Ensign was wrong. “Anyway, this is Lavernius Tucker, he’s our Biology specialist.” Rather than add anything insightful, Tucker started singing a song from the late 20th century about animals mating.

Still, that brought up a new question. “Ensign Church, what exactly is your specialization?”

The question actually made Church scoff, and his voice swelled a little as he bragged, “Oh, me? Not much, I’ve only got five doctorates in different fields. I’m the Chief Science Officer here for a reaso-” His words fell off as they passed a room that looked to be their transporter room, though why they had one when the ion field made it unusable was a mystery to Washington. Inside was another crew member, this one in an appropriate blue shade for his station. He was surrounded by a mess of wires coming out of the transporter and looked as though he was talking to someone, though no one appeared to be in the room with him. “Oh shit, what the fuck is Caboose doing?!” Church sprinted into the room, leaving Washington no choice but to follow out of curiosity.

“-hat is why I went into space. Oh, Church!” This officer, who appeared to have the build of a warrior or professional athlete combined with a voice completely lacking any sort of self-awareness, grinned from ear to ear when he saw who was coming towards him. There was something innocent in Caboose’s voice that made Washington think of Donut, though there was definitely a difference. Donut sounded cheerful, Caboose sounded unaware. “Church! I was just telling Sheila all about-”

“What the fuck are you doing to the transporter?!” Church hissed, his voice going shrill for a moment there, cutting his subordinate off mid-sentence.

From where Washington was standing, it appeared as though Caboose wasn’t cognizant of the fact that Church was angry at him at all. Starting over what he’d started to say before, Caboose explained, “I was just telling Sheila all about my idea! Remember when you told us about Mr. Jim Jim, who got doublicated by a transporter, and Tucker said it didn’t seem physically possible, and you said-”

Growling now, Church interjected, “ _Yes_ , Caboose, I remember.”

“Well I thought, ‘What if we could make our teleporter do that whenever we wanted!’ That way, I could have another Church! You’re always saying you’re too busy, but if there were two of you, then one could do all your work and the other could spend time with me!” Caboose sounded very proud of his idea.

Washington thought it sounded like an ethics trial waiting to happen. Church seemed to be thinking something similar. “Okay, Caboose, let’s say you make it so our transporter can duplicate people. What would we do with the extra person when we didn’t need them anymore?”

“I don’t know, man, it sounds pretty awesome. It’d make threesomes way easier.” How exactly Tucker was planning on using this trick to end up sleeping with anyone was something Washington didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. “And I mean, if I had a clone, I’m pretty sure I could talk him into ending things peacefully. He’d know it was for the good of boning.”

Deciding he couldn’t stay out of this any longer, Washington added, “Actually, killing your own clone is still murder.” Then, he focused on Ensign Caboose, who was looking at him with a blankly happy expression. “I assume you’re the base’s engineer, then?” Of course, engineers usually wore yellow uniforms, but then again when did anyone on this base wear the correctly colored uniform?

Caboose opened his mouth to respond, but Church covered it with his hand and took over the responsibility of answering the question. “No, Caboose isn’t our engineer. He’s a theoretical physicist, but he likes tinkering with machines anyway.” Then he focused on Caboose, and talked slowly. “Caboose, this is Washington, he’s from Command. He’s going to talk to you later, okay?”

With no effort at all, Caboose pushed Church’s arm away and excitedly told Washington, “Hello! I am Michael J. Caboose!” Washington waited for him to say something else, only to realize apparently that was all he had wanted to say.

Apparently used to this by now, Church just told Tucker, “Stay here and keep an eye on Caboose while I introduce Wash to Sister.” Then Church forcibly grabbed Washington by the arm and drug him out of the room. Washington could hear Caboose make a sound of disappointment, but didn’t turn his head to see his face. “One more person to see, then you can hurry up and do whatever bullshit you’re supposed to do.” Despite his words, there wasn’t hostility in Church’s words as much as exhaustion.

The last member of the Blood Gulch Crew seemed to be the only woman, sporting an actual yellow uniform and weirdly familiar, but not in the same way Church did. Oh, and as they entered her room, she was doing stretches that Washington was fairly sure should have ripped more than a few ligaments. With her back facing them but her head looking at them from between her legs, the woman smiled at her guests. “What is uuuuppppp? Who’s the new guy, Church?”

For some reason, Washington had the sense that this woman was looking at him like Grif from the Reds looked at a tasty dessert. Church made the introductions. “Wash, this is Sister. Sister, this is Wash. I’m done here now.” Now that he’d fulfilled the letter of his obligations, Church left the room, and suddenly Washington felt more than a little nervous. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t around women often or anything, it was just the vibes he was getting from this one in particular.

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Washington, and I was sent here to investigate the base and its personnel.” In an instant, her look had gone from come-hither to quietly malevolent, and Washington had no clue why. “So...are you Ensign Church’s sister then?”

With venom in her voice, she replied, “I don’t know, are you going to arrest me if you don’t like the answer, _cop_?” She said that last word as though it were a curse.

For a few seconds, Washington just held his head in his hands, and wondered what the hell he’d done at Section 13 that made anyone feel he deserved this assignment as punishment. After he’d collected himself, Washington told her, tiredly, “I’m not a cop.” In fact, some people might say he was the kind of person certain authorities would love to talk to. “I just need to know a few things about you, and then I can leave you alone.”

She still looked very suspicious, but after exiting whatever pose she’d been holding and turning to face him, the right way around this time, Sister explained, “Church isn’t my brother, that would be gross. I’m Grif’s sister. I showed up a while after he’d already been here, so everyone just started calling my Sister instead of Kaikana.” Now that she’d said it, Washington could absolutely see the resemblance between the two siblings. At least that explained one nagging sense he’d been feeling thus far.

Taking it in stride that she’d at least told him that much, Washington asked, “Judging by your uniform color, you’re an engineer, correct?” He hoped at least that much was still true, and that for some reason they hadn’t decided to give a yellow uniform to a doctor or a therapist or something.

She grinned at that. “Hell yeah I am! One time, I invented a vibrator so powerful the person I tested it on was brain-dead for one minute after turning it on. It’s a good thing I only ever test my stuff on myself.”

Nodding to himself, Washington said, “Yeah, good thing...wait, what?”

That was the first day Special Agent Washington spent among the Reds and Blues. In the end, sorting through everything strange on the base took more than a month, most of which he spent on the Blue side simply because he found them slightly more tolerable to be around. His final report concluded they were incredibly strange, if not also quite skilled at times, group of officers whose isolation had made them more than a little difficult to be around.

His report obviously did not mention any of the things he failed to learn in his time there. Such things included the time travel shenanigans, several incidents where the Reds and Blues had inadvertently saved the entire Federation, and the fact that the leader of the Blues was actually a hologram with a mobile emitter.


End file.
